


part of you pours out of me

by tosca1390



Category: Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-14 23:38:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2207358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Eventually,” Daphne Basset says, reclining rather wantonly among the plush bedding that she purchased especially once arriving at Hastings House, “we will have to leave the house.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Hovering in the entrance linking the duke’s (<i>their</i>) bedchamber to his dressing room, Simon blinks. He is utterly naked, and completely glorious, and all hers. Daphne has just begun to be able to contain her blushes at the sight of his nude form, but it has been <i>months</i>, really. She ought to be able to ogle him if she so chooses. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Which, of course, she does. </i>
</p>
<p>A brief slice of marital bliss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	part of you pours out of me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spyglass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spyglass/gifts).



> For the lovely Grace, for her birthday! <333

*

“Eventually,” Daphne Basset says, reclining rather wantonly among the plush bedding that she purchased especially once arriving at Hastings House, “we will have to leave the house.”

Hovering in the entrance linking the duke’s ( _their_ ) bedchamber to his dressing room, Simon blinks. He is utterly naked, and completely glorious, and all hers. Daphne has just begun to be able to contain her blushes at the sight of his nude form, but it has been _months_ , really. She ought to be able to ogle him if she so chooses. 

Which, of course, she does. 

“Leave the house?” Simon repeats, ruffling a hand through his dark hair. “Why on earth would we do that?”

“To rejoin society,” she says, toying with the ribbons of her negligee that lay across her neck. She likes the sage green satin against her skin; she likes the gleam in Simon’s pale blue eyes even more as he watches her from across the room. 

“Society can go right to hell, as far as I’m concerned,” he rumbles, arching a brow. 

“Language,” she admonishes, smiling slightly. 

“Daphne,” he murmurs, walking across the room. 

“We do have to make some appearances, Simon. They’ll think something is wrong with one or both of us if we hole up in here continuously,” she says amusedly. Her eyes follow him as he climbs into bed and straddles her, his long warm hands smoothing along the rucked up lines of her negligee. She stretches out languorously under him, reaching up to run her hands over the taut lines of his chest, pressing into the springy dark chest hair. 

His smile is warm and wicked, and she can see the affection lingering in his gaze. “We barely had an opportunity to honeymoon. I’m certain society will forgive us.”

She snorts. Her skin begins to heat under his attentions, his clever fingers curving to her breasts and rubbing at her peaked nipples. “That is most decidedly not how society works, and you know that.”

Simon blinks, his fingers running long strokes over the curves of her breasts and waist. She can feel him half-hard against her belly, and a delicious wave of arousal curls through her. Will it always feel like this? Daphne can’t help but hope so. 

“I have been travelling to parts unknown for many years, dear heart,” he murmurs, leaning over her to press his mouth to her throat. His lips are hot and wet against her skin. Goosebumps ripple over her arms and collarbones. “How can I know what current society’s standards are? You saw me at Lady Danbury’s ball. I practically hid behind your skirts from that point forward.”

“Your perception of me is absolutely stunning,” she says dryly. “Lord, Simon, how I’ve longed to be described as a duke’s nursemaid.”

He chuckles against her neck, her pulse quickening under his lips. “I would send you in always as my first line of defense, Daphne. You’re utterly imperturbable.”

“Nothing about this sounds particularly attractive. I have half a mind to toss you from bed, if you’re going to continue to describe me as a battle-axe of a woman,” she sniffs, flushing. She digs her fingers into the hard line of his shoulders, stroking her hands over the line of his spine. 

Laughing, he lifts his head to smile at her. This isn’t the rake or the world traveler; this is Simon, her husband, and it makes her think back of the conversations they had before the duel and their marriage, when they were merely friends and she nursed her affections in secret. He was the first person to speak to her as if she was a real human being and not just a prospective wife. She has missed that in the last two months of his absence. 

He’s the best friend she’s ever had, truly. Eloise and Francesca are much younger than her, truly, and whole they are pleasant companions, she always felt closer to her elder brothers. But Colin passed into the realm of manhood and left her behind to be a society gentleman, with separate interests and pursuits that aren’t proper for gently-bred ladies, and Anthony and Benedict always treated her like a child, despite her ability to race them into the dust back in Kent. 

“You are most certainly not a battle-axe, Daphne,” he says with a lovely smile, his palm cupping the damp curls between her thighs. She arches her hips and sighs, tension uncoiling in her spine and belly. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

She flushes warmly, shifting underneath him. He may be besotted and blinded, but she doesn’t quite mind when he looks at her so. She shifts up the bedclothes, her limbs restless and her nerves afire. “You can be rather romantic when you put your mind to it.”

“I am very determined to make you happy,” he says with a smirk. 

“Pray, do not let me stand in your way,” she all but purrs. Marriage with Simon has awoken something deliciously wanton and dangerous within her; perhaps she always knew this was within her, but kept it safely hidden from all except him. He does have an uncanny way of seeing right through her. 

Stroking her wet flesh, his thumb rubbing at the sensitive nub at the apex of her sex, he regards with her with a slowly narrowing gaze. His focus is absolute on her, on the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Sunlight creeps through the haphazardly-drawn drapes, touching on the dark gleam of his hair, the toned line of his shoulders. He cups her breast with his free hand, and she arches into the touch, her breath coming in soft pants. 

“Worshipping you properly will take much of my energy and time, you know,” he says, voice a low growl. “I shouldn’t have the stamina for much else.”

“So?” she gasps, hips restless. 

He shifts them both onto their sides, hooking her thigh over his hip as he enters her in a slow unhurried thrust. She wraps her arms around his neck and moans throatily, tightening her thigh around his hip. His fingers circle slowly, his mouth coming down to cover hers. She shuts her eyes and sinks her fingers into his thick dark hair, her hips rocking in time to his. Everything coalesces and shudders within her, settling low in her belly and sending shivers up her spine. His tongue sweeps along her bottom lip and she whispers his name. 

“So, society be damned. I will always choose you,” he murmurs, sinking deeply within her. His hand flattens on the small of her back and tucks her even closer, pressed chest to chest. 

Daphne tightens her grip on him and kisses him until she cannot breathe. There is nowhere else she would rather be. 

*

Lady Whistledown devotes half of her next column to the reclusive habits of the Duke and Duchess of Hastings. In the end, the Bridgerton siblings cannot let anything alone. 

That’s how Daphne finds herself, five days after Simon’s return to London, with an entire drawing room of Bridgertons peering at her as if she is an exotic cat at the Tower of London. 

“You don’t look unwell,” Eloise says bluntly, blinking curious grey eyes at Daphne from the other side of the coffee table. 

Daphne sighs, glancing at her mother, seated at the head of their little gathering. It’s a rather rainy day outside, grey and forbidding, but a little rain has never stopped the Bridgertons. Currently, in addition to Violet and Eloise, Colin, Hyacinth, Gregory, and Francesca also occupy her drawing room, taking up every conceivable seat. Hyacinth is fidgeting unbearably, and Francesca is standing by the windows, looking out onto the slow and wet streets. 

Colin, busy munching on his third chicken sandwich, snorts. “Why do you think she’s unwell?”

“Because she hasn’t left her house in five days,” Eloise retorts, eyes flashing. “That usually involves sickness or confinement or scandal.”

“Well, then, which one is it?” Colin says with a cheeky grin, staring at Daphne with half a sandwich in his fingers. 

“Colin!” Violet exclaims as Daphne rolls her eyes. 

“Is it scandal? That would be fantastic,” Eloise says, perched on the edge of her seat, her fingers pleating in her soft blue day dress. 

“Wasn’t my marriage scandalously quick enough for you?” Daphne asks dryly. 

“Yes,” Violet says firmly, nodding her fair head. 

“Nothing is scandalous enough for Eloise,” Francesca murmurs from the window. 

Gregory, miraculously silent, takes a sandwich and chews. 

“Where is Anthony?” Daphne asks, glancing between Violet and Colin. 

Violet’s mouth thins faintly. “Well – “

“Grumbling about how he’d like to murder Simon while pacing around his study,” Eloise says promptly. 

Sighing, Daphne smooths her hands along the soft muslin of her green-sprigged dress. Repairing Simon and Anthony’s friendship; what a lovely project to embark on, she thinks grouchily. 

“Simon isn’t particularly fond of society events, as you know,” Daphne says with a small shrug. “Besides, we’re still getting to know each other.”

“Certainly,” Colin murmurs, all amusement. 

Daphne glares at him. “You need an occupation.”

“Deviling you seems to do quite well,” Colin retorts with a grin. 

“Mother, can’t you find a nice girl for Colin to court?” Daphne asks, saccharine-sweet. 

Violet’s bright eyes light up and Colin groans. “Low blow,” he mutters.

“How much more could you really have to get to know about him?” Eloise asks impertinently, curious as always. 

Clearing her throat, Violet reaches to take a biscuit from the tea tray. “Eloise, really. Don’t badger your sister.”

“I can’t help my curious nature, Mother. You’re always telling me to embrace it,” Eloise counters. 

“Cautiously,” Violet says calmly. “Embrace it cautiously.”

“You like gossip almost as much as that Whistledown woman,” Colin mutters. 

“I enjoy _stories_ ,” Eloise replies fiercely. 

“Francesca, is anything interesting going on out there?” Daphne asks, unbearably uncomfortable now that she’s realized that two days ago she and Simon debauched the settee Hyacinth, Eloise, and Gregory are sitting on. 

“Simon is back,” Francesca says quietly, her slim fingers pulling at the thick drapes lightly. “Otherwise, it is rather dull.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Daphne rises just as she hears the front door open and Simon’s steps in the entrance hall. “I’ll fetch him. Please, help yourself to more tea,” she says before swishing out of the drawing room. 

She finds Simon just as he’s shedding his damp coat and handing it to Jeffries. His face lights up at the sight of her, his lips curving into a smile. 

“I told you leaving the house was a terrible notion,” he says as he comes to her, kissing her once in greeting. She can smell rainwater and old paper on his shirt and jacket. “It rained as soon as I walked out the bloody door.”

Smiling, she kisses him, reaching up on tip toe. “You’re right, of course. Clearly, the weather is conspiring against society and responsibility.”

He runs his hand over her spine, warm through her dress. “I will gladly cooperate with it.”

“Not so fast,” she laughs. “My family is here.”

Simon quirks a brow. “Do they all fit in one room?”

“You think you’re much cleverer than you are,” she grouses. 

He grins and kisses her once more before he takes her hand and leads her back towards the drawing room. “As long as no one threatens me this time around, I feel perfectly comfortable.”

“Well I don’t,” she says, exasperated. “I keep thinking of – of – “

“Of two days past?” he whispers, ducking down to kiss her earlobe. “Perhaps later – “

“Simon!” she hisses. She would be completely transfixed and excited by the conversation at hand if they weren’t about to step into the drawing room with the majority of her family sitting there, waiting. Honestly. 

He gives her a familiar wicked smile, which dissolves into warm friendliness as they enter the drawing room. “I’ve returned to a full house,” he says, as Hyacinth immediately perks up from her twitchy slouch on the settee. She is quite fond of Simon, after that family dinner he attended; Daphne smiles as he bends to kiss her mother’s cheek, nodding to Colin and bowing to Eloise. 

“We were so hoping to see you, Hastings,” Violet says with a warm smile. 

He takes a seat with Daphne on the loveseat opposite the settee, next to a still-eating Colin, and takes her hand in his. “Please, call me Simon.”

“If you insist,” he says warmly. “What brings you all here on this rainy afternoon?”

“Sickness, confinement, or scandal,” Eloise says, ticking off the points on her fingers. 

Violet chokes on her tea while Colin snorts. Daphne just sighs and twines her fingers into Simon’s. 

“Apparently society is convinced something is wrong with us,” she says, meeting his pale eyes. 

Simon blinks, a small grin curling at his lips. “How considerate of them.”

“Is it a scandal? Because it would be really quite something to have the upper hand on Lady Whistledown,” Eloise says eagerly. 

The cacophony of her siblings and mother’s voices fills her ears, but Daphne just squeezes Simon’s hand and smiles slightly at him. When he smiles back at her, and joins in with her utterly too familiar family, she knows she has found a solid and wonderful man. 

*

Society suffers the lack of the Duke and Duchess of Hastings for a full week after his return from the country before they relent and make an appearance at a Bridgerton function. It wouldn’t do to spurn one of her mother’s engagements, Daphne argues, and Simon agrees. He agrees as she’s straddled naked above him, which helps the circumstances along, of course. 

Finally, with summer dusk lingering and the heat of the day fading, Simon helps Daphne into their carriage and stops to speak to the driver before he hops in after her and settles on the same side of the carriage. The wheels begin to turn and she looks at her husband with a smile, the cool evening air a relief through the open carriage windows. 

“I still don’t think people believe you married me,” she says lightly. 

Simon takes her hand in both of his and begins to peel off her satin gloves, finger by finger. “I certainly did. And I believe it, so that’s the end to that.”

“I’m particularly relieved to be out of the melee that is the marriage mart,” she says with a sigh, relaxing against him. The remnants of punch sparkle in her blood and she feels unbearably light. Ever since they have come to terms with the sad and torturous truth of his past, she has felt the tension ease away from him, bit by bit. As he relaxes more and more, she does as well. They plan their days, where they will spend the fall, where they will Christmas, redecorating Clyvedon House to suit their tastes. She feels like his partner, and it’s all she’s ever wanted. 

“I’m relieved to have you out from the prying eyes of those idiotic single men,” he mutters. “God, how I wanted to throttle all of them before.”

“I do love when you’re particularly green-eyed,” she laughs. 

He drops her gloves to the floor and leans into kiss along the sloping neckline of her dress, the lace peeping out at her bosom; dark green silk and white lace, a homage to the negligees he loves so much. It is a secret between the two of them, and she could feel his eyes on her at almost every moment during the party. She likes how attentive, how possessive he is; she wants to possess in turn. 

“I’ve been consistently jealous of every man to come within five feet of you in the last three months, Daphne,” he says conversationally, his voice a low murmur against her skin. 

As they shift and roll among the cobblestones towards Hastings House, she runs her fingers through his dark hair and smiles. Pleasure bubbles right under her skin, a unique sensation she feels only with him. She loves him to distraction. 

“Absurd,” she murmurs. “I only wanted you.”

He presses a kiss to the exposed curve of her breast and lifts his head. 

“You have me,” he says, voice low and heavy. His hands slide over her full green skirts as he leans over to kiss her wide mouth. “I am yours, Daphne.”

She shifts herself into his lap and takes his mouth, possesses him as he does her. His hands push up her skirts and she rocks down onto his lap, her tongue warm and sweet against his. The carriage isn’t ideal but she’s wanted his hands on her all evening. Hours and hours of polite conversation and watching Anthony and Simon glare at each other from across the room at Bridgerton House was utterly tiring, and she just wanted to go home, to close out the troublesome world and stay wrapped in his arms for hours. 

“I love you,” she whispers as his clever fingers find the slit in her drawers and spread her wide across his lap, wet and wanting. “Simon, please – “

He kisses her hard, the air between them hot and sticky even with the soft night breeze from the windows. Her fingers drag across his open jacket lapels and his crisp shirt, plucking at his ascot and finding the rapid pulse of his blood at his throat. With a fumble of limbs and fabric and buttons, he has her wet and ready and lifts her hips to bring her onto him. The puddle of her skirt presses between their bellies but she clenches and sighs around him, touching the strong lines of his jaw as he takes her hips in his broad hands and moves her on top of him. 

“Daph – Daphne – “ he stammers, voice thick and hot. She kisses the words from his lips and arches her back, muffling the low sounds of her moans against his throat. 

“I love you,” he whispers harshly into her ear, and she holds him unbearably close, kissing his neck, his ear. 

Later, stripped to their skins and tangled together in their bed, she giggles into his shoulder. 

“You find something amusing, dear heart?” Simon murmurs, stroking a warm hand down her back. His fingers twine in her thick dark hair, and he smooths it wave by wave. Their room is swathed in darkness, the windows thrown open for a cool breeze. 

“I never thought the mechanics of lovemaking would work in a moving carriage,” she says pertly.

He laughs then, low and husky. “You were splendid. You have the most adventurous spirit.”

Daphne lifts her head and smiles at him. “Do you think so?”

“Absolutely,” he says, smoothing his fingers over her cheek. She can’t see his smile but she can hear it. “You’re the bravest woman I’ve ever met.”

Sighing silently, she scoots up to kiss him, his mouth soft and sweet against hers. She would return the sentiment, but he rolls her onto her back and fully distracts her with his mouth and hands. 

Later, she thinks hazily. There would be years and years of time to tell him how brave she thinks he is. After all, they are well and truly married. 

*


End file.
